


Onesie Wars

by Project0506



Series: Soft Wars [67]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Brothers being assholes, Crack?, Humor, M/M, Romance, crackish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:00:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23889367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Project0506/pseuds/Project0506
Summary: A devastating war has torn through the Vode.  Unbeknownst to all, instigators of both sides of the warring factions are deeply in cahoots...
Relationships: Dogma/Blockade, Dogma/Original Clone Character
Series: Soft Wars [67]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1683775
Comments: 48
Kudos: 584





	Onesie Wars

**Author's Note:**

> If I'm gonna commit I'm gonna commit. Oya Blockma.

The rough rasp of stubble against stubble is loud in the half-dark of pre-dawn. The scratch of a chin, first thing in the morning before their shaves, has always, always been something that Dogma has loved. It’s real, little sensations his mind can’t imagine. He’d dreamed of kisses before, of more, and woken to find himself alone and disappointed. He never dreamed of that sound, of the slightly stale breath of a first-thing-kiss, of the slight buzz of static electricity as polycotton sheets rub over their legs. Dogma hoards every little thing, loves them maybe more than the big ones.

He turns his head, lets Blockade turn his tease into something a little deeper, something with just enough bite that they both start to wonder if getting up today is worth it. Blockade steals his breath, worries at his bottom lip. Smiles against his mouth.

“Bring your own coffee today.”

Dogma groans and collapses against the pillow.

“Who’s the traitor?” His mind ticks through everyone who’d been through the backrooms of Torrent Security’s Coruscant office the past tenday. “Sabé? It’s Sabé isn’t it?”

“Your Bigger Twins pissed her off,” Blockade agrees. “Came straight to me, didn’t even need to recruit her.”

Dogma curses, intent and heartfelt. It’s _incredibly_ difficult to fight a war when your fighters are enabling the enemy. And Sabé is _Vod_ so he can’t even block her from their spaces. She’s the perfect mole. Ugh.

“I was saving the onesie plan,” Dogma complains and he feels Blockade’s laughter against his arm. “How devastating is this? Do I have to bring out the onesie plan already?”

“Fox has her digging up massive amounts of dirt. He already knows you’re planning to sticky-flimsy over all the Guard’s speeders next week. They’re going to be very well waxed, by the way.”

Mentally, Dogma makes a note to ensure that it’s the Bigger Twins that have to run that plan. They deserve the disappointment. Onesie plan it is.

He slinks up, rolls onto Blockade’s wiry chest, scrapes his nails up his undercut and buries them deep in his thick curls. Dogma is very, very good at following instructions, including the unspoken ones. He has learned exactly what to do to take Blockade apart.

“Yeah,” Blockade pants against his lips when Dogma finally lets him breathe again. “Absolutely. Anything you need.”

Dogma grins. His timing is perfect: the edges of sunlight are just starting to reflect off the sea of glass and chrome outside their window. He knows what the light, and a certain type of smirk, does to his tattoos. Blockade does as well.

“Haven’t even asked anything yet,” he teases.

Blockade nips at the apex of his V. “The fact that you’re pulling out all the atmospherics for this means it will be amusing,” He says. “And it will piss Fox off.”

“And I’m devastatingly handsome and can suck your brain out through your mouth,” Dogma reminds him. Blockade bites his way down Dogma’s tattoo to his mouth without responding. Dogma can follow that order too.

“Yeah,” Blockade says again. “I get the feeling this might make up for years of his and Ponds’ bullshit. I’ll do it. But you have to make your command fall for the caff thing. Riff came up with that and we’re trying to encourage his initiative. Hitting Jesse or Rex would be a huge win for him, but we’d take either of the others.”

“Deal. Kix’ll be easiest. He’s usually three cups in before he knows his own name. I’ll see what I can do about the Captain.” He’s not dumb enough to go after Jesse. Dogma doesn’t bite the hand that feeds him, or in this case, the hand that provides most of his alibis.

Blockade rewards him with another kiss, eeling up and over until he’s flipped them and straddles Dogma’s waist. They both _really_ enjoy Blockade being in charge. Mm.

“What do I need to do?”

“Invite the Senator of Naboo for lunch with you and Padmé. One of the little fancy bistros down from Senate row. Get yourself a table just far enough inside that it looks like you planned it to be a private lunch between friends.”

Nothing attracts press like attempts at privacy. They’ll be all over the holonet before the end of the first course.

Curious but obliging, Blockade snags his comm from the side table. He sends his message still sitting on Dogma’s hips. His leg muscles are tight and gorgeous, shining golden in the morning light. Dogma couldn’t keep his hands away if he tried.

“Don’t remember seeing your request for that, trooper.” Dogma grins, squeezes a little at Blockade’s thighs.

“Maybe it got misfiled?” He worms his way up with a laugh to kiss the glare off his lover’s face. “I joke, I joke, it was filed correctly in triplicate and was simply lower priority than the rest of your inbox,” he teases. “You should talk to your assistant about that.”

“Karma already knows to prioritize all erotic and semi-erotic requests from you,” Blockade sniffs. Dogma’s not sure if he’s joking. There _was_ a week where Karma found reason to abandon Vode Representative offices the moment Dogma appeared anywhere nearby.

He stares. “Really?”

Blockade’s smile is pure Representative Vode: enigmatic and inscrutable. That’s going to _bother_ him. Looks like today’s schedule includes breaking into Karma’s messages again. At least it’ll distract from the caff debacle.

The comm chimes. Blockade reads it, raises an eyebrow. “If your plan can change to something greasy and bad for you, Kala is willing to ditch her committee meeting today. Padmé would murder for something deep fried. She probably shouldn’t have admitted to that over an unsecure line.”

Yes, Dogma can work with that. “You can be extra furtive when sneaking out,” Dogma muses out loud. “Let those CSTV vultures spot you accidentally. Yeah, yeah that will do.” They’d need to do this anyway, the ‘accidental, completely un-staged friendly meal’. Someone’s starting to spread rumors of a rift between the Vode and Naboo over Senator Amidala not being reelected. That she didn’t actually _run_ doesn’t mean much to scavengers. “I’ll do _that thing_ tonight if you get photographed holding the Littler Twins,” Dogma offers, but doesn’t wait to see if Blockade agrees. He will. Dogma knows his skills, knows the power he holds: Blockade will be absolutely sure to get photographed from every angle cuddling both twins together and individually.

He squirms until he’s on his belly and Blockade sits on the backs of his thighs, and claws his way to his own side table to comm Anakin. It’s imperative Anakin does his part. This is their one chance to outdo the stunt Fox pulled with putting the Littler Twins in Guard-patterned baby hardhats for his promos.

When the tabloids go crazy this afternoon, the Littler Twins will be wearing custom made Captain Rex onesies, complete with foam helmet fin and springy antenna. The hoods have little Jaig Eyes stitched on them.

Commander Fox will be _murderous_.


End file.
